


Connections with Castiel

by BlueMasquerade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Minor Celebrity Cas, Mutual Pining, Rated 'T' for language, Teacher!Dean, author!Cas, book tour, deancaspinefest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 15:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 21,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMasquerade/pseuds/BlueMasquerade
Summary: Semi-famous PBS TV show host Castiel Novak was successful now. 'Connections with Castiel' was surprisingly popular, considering its subject matter of history, art, and architecture around the world.Dean Winchester had overcome many life challenges to finally make something of himself. He liked teaching high school English, and he was so proud of the successful life Sam had built for himself that he couldn't even begin to express it. His biggest regret was the way he'd panicked and blown up his relationship with Castiel Novak, a decade in the past. When one of his students introduced him to a popular new PBS show, he was floored to realize the host was none other than Castiel. His Castiel.When Sam invited both Dean and Cas to dinner, would they finally get over each other once and for all? Or could this be a chance to finally reconnect for good?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work was written for the 2018 Dean Cas Pinefest. Thank you to the mods for an awesome challenge, and check out all of the other great fics!
> 
> Special thanks to my artist collaborator, Delicious Irony. The art is wonderful!

“Oh my God! Congratulations!” The squealing from the far side of the teacher’s lounge caught Dean’s attention as he poured himself a coffee from the ancient pot. The stuff was horrible, usually tasted burnt and had the consistency of black tar, but it was free. He looked over to see Becky Rosen, the French teacher, holding her hand out for Bela Talbot, one of the social studies teachers, to admire.

“I know, I’m just SO EXCITED!”

Dean was tempted to duck his head and escape, but just then Becky turned towards him.

“Dean!” she exclaimed. “I got engaged! See?” She waggled her left hand in his direction, the diamond sparkling in the light.

He smiled. “Congratulations.” He lifted a finger in salute, momentarily regretting that he wasn’t bold enough to use the middle one — and then immediately feeling vaguely guilty for even thinking that. So maybe Becky Rosen and Bela Talbot weren’t his favorite people. That didn’t mean he actually wanted to be rude. Just… not in the same room. “Gotta run, I’m late. See you later.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, just headed out and made his way up to his classroom.

He could feel a bad mood coming on. He didn’t want to examine it. He knew what he’d find if he started analyzing things, and he just didn’t want to deal with that right now.

It was the end of the school year. He just had to get through the week, then a couple days of teacher in-service to finish grading final papers and getting grades entered into the system, and then he was free for the summer.

_ Free for what? Free to putter around in your god-awful apartment, free to pick up a part-time job at Benny’s Diner, free to show up at Sam’s place too often and make a nuisance out of yourself? _

He scowled, pulling his chair out with one foot before sitting down forcefully enough to send it rolling back and ramming his back into the tray ledge at the bottom of the whiteboard. “Dammit.”

Stupid, stupid.  _ Get it together, Winchester. _ The first class of the day would start arriving soon, and he had sworn before he ever started teaching that he would never, ever, take out a bad mood on his students. He’d lived through enough of being on the wrong end of an adult authority figure’s temper. He wasn’t going to inflict it on anyone else. Ever.

Well, never again, anyhow.

Still, it was hard to be cheerful when yet another person in his sphere was coupling off, and here he was, still alone, no prospects in sight.

Benny would lean back and cross his arms over his apron, and proceed to point out in his slow Louisiana drawl that he had to put himself out there if he wanted to find someone.

Problem was, he  _ had _ found someone, but it was the wrong time, the wrong place, and he’d set that on fire and burned it to a crisp. No, that was too bland. It wasn’t just a fire. It was a three-alarm inferno, flames licking up into the sky, destroying any possibility that he could salvage anything.

_ What possibilities? Cas was leaving anyhow. No way he was going to stick around in Kansas. He was going to grad school, going to make something of himself. Kansas had nothing to offer someone like Castiel Novak. _

_ Dean had nothing to offer someone like Castiel Novak. _

Dean growled to himself.

With the perspective of a decade’s more of life experience, Dean regretted that day with everything he had. He couldn’t stop the image from forming in his mind yet again, the way it did at least weekly, usually more.

It had been a beautiful day, and a hugely important one. They were celebrating graduations — Sam from high school as valedictorian, Cas from Kansas U with his double major in History and Art History. In the three years since Cas had first shown up at their door, clutching the ad for ‘Student Boarder Wanted’ in his hand, he’d become part of the family. He’d slowly made a place for himself, first with Sam — the two of them shared a nerdy love of schoolbooks and a single-minded determination to master everything put in front of them — and more gradually with Dean.

Dean had been wary of letting him close. There was something about Cas that made Dean uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. In a  _ gorgeous eyes amazing smile shit he’s hot but he’s a guy _ sort of a way — and Dean had not been ready for that. So he’d played it cool, been a friend. Dated a string of girls, never lasting more than a couple dates, while spending more and more time at home just hanging out with Sam and Cas when he wasn’t working.

It took him three years to admit to himself that he was half in love with Castiel Novak. It took another three months before a night when Sam was at an overnight debate tournament and Dean had the night off. Too many beers later and he and Cas were in bed together.

Dean had promptly gone into a panic tailspin. He’d left before Cas woke up, thankfully having the excuse of work, but then he’d avoided him. There had only been two weeks left before graduation and the party, so it wasn’t that hard to do. 

Inviting Cassie Robinson to the party was a dick move. He’d known it then, but done it anyhow.

The expression on Cas’ face when Cassie had arrived and put her arms around Dean, kissed him lightly, with familiarity and a sweet bright affection was pure shock. It had turned to betrayal when Dean wrapped his arms back around her and kissed her back.

He hadn’t even seen Cas leave. He was there.

And then he wasn’t.

The last week of class was always challenging in high school. The kids had more and more trouble staying focused in class, so it was more and more challenging for Dean to capture and keep their attention. He couldn’t really blame them. He remembered spring fever well from his own youth. Hell, he wasn’t exactly immune now. He loved teaching, he really did, but summer vacation wasn’t any less alluring now than it had been then.

This was the last period of the day, and it was a gorgeous day out. So why were Krissy and Alex still in the classroom, instead of escaping like the rest of the kids had?

They were slowly putting their books and notes away, talking at the same time. Dean started paying more attention.

“It’s really… I don’t know. PBS shows are usually boring, but this one is cool,” Krissy said.

“My mom was watching it the other day. She thinks the host is hot. Like, ugh. He’s too young for her. Too old for me, but too young for her. He’s somewhere in his thirties, isn’t he?”

“I think so. I haven’t Googled it. But yeah, he’s hot. Those blue eyes! And when he’s out on location and the wind is blowing? It does things to his hair. Eye candy is definitely part of the appeal.” Krissy grinned.

“He definitely makes history interesting. And that’s not easy,” Alex agreed, laughing.

Dean looked up from the front desk, giving up pretending he wasn’t listening. “What show are you two talking about?”

“It’s this PBS show, about art and architecture and how it was both influenced by and influenced history and the culture of the time when it was created. It’s kind of hard to explain, but it’s good. He travels all over the place. Europe, Asia, South America… and he talks about how certain symbols and themes appear in really different places but yet there are commonalities that speak to universal aspects of the human experience.”

Dean smiled crookedly. “That reminds me of a guy I knew way back when. History major, but he was interested in that sort of cross-discipline thing, too. How the events of the time were reflected in the styles of art and architecture and slowly evolved, and when they changed drastically due to contact with other cultures. He was really into it.”

“If you like that kind of stuff you should watch it, Mr. W,” Krissy said. “It’s on tonight. ‘Connections with Castiel.’”

Dean’s vision whited out and his shoulders tightened. With Castiel? Castiel?

How many people could there possibly be named Castiel? Especially Castiels that were also history nerds?

“Uh. Yeah. Okay. Maybe I’ll check it out.”

He hoped the girls didn’t notice how choked his voice was.

Dean hurried home that night after school was out, even though the show wasn’t on until 8:00. He pulled his laptop out and turned it on, staring at the home screen on his browser. Shit. His hands were shaking.

This was ridiculous. There wasn’t anyone else here. No one was here to watch him, to make any sort of comments. No one would know that he was internet stalking his… whatever the hell they had been. Friends, yes, that part was undeniable.

But what else? What more? Anything?

Lovers. For that short time. Until Dean panicked, overwhelmed and frankly terrified of losing everything, so he pushed Cas away before Cas could abandon him.

Fuck.

He’d been so stupid. So young, so stupid.

He couldn’t do this. He spun the laptop away so that the screen was facing the other direction and stood up, his chair shoved out of the way with enough force to rock for a moment before settling down again.

He stalked to the kitchen, pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and cracked it open.

The open laptop taunted him from a distance.

Dinner. He needed to make dinner, not sit and surf the web. He’d planned burgers for tonight, mixing the hamburger meat with barbecue sauce, just enough to add flavor but not make it so runny that the burgers wouldn’t hold together. He pulled the meat out, flopped it into his aluminum mixing bowl and added the sauce and spices. It would be nice to grill the burgers. Grilling was so much better than anything else, but he wasn’t allowed to cook out on his little balcony, and he didn’t feel like using one of the grills in the yard of the complex. That always attracted someone to come chat, and frankly he didn’t feel like socializing tonight.

Not when he was this much of a mess.

By the time the burgers were broiled and the extras prepared for freezing, it was almost eight.

Okay. He could do this. It was just a television show. It wasn’t some grand life-altering event. It was TV.

Taking a deep breath, he picked up his remote and turned on the television, tuning it to PBS.

The opening credits were a montage of various historical sites along with some hokey theme music, perky and annoyingly catchy. Dean scowled at it, even if there wasn’t anyone around to witness it.

The credits ended, fading into some bright green outdoor scene, then focusing on a four leaf clover while a fuzzy bee circled around the flower and Cas’ voice narrated. Dean couldn’t focus enough to make out the words. All he could make out was the tone — deeper, a little rougher than he remembered, but still unmistakably Cas. Snippets of memories assaulted him. Cas at their dining room table, helping Sam with a history paper. Cas frowning at the TV as he watched Star Wars for the first time, questioning everything but then proclaiming he’d enjoyed it, and yes, Han Solo was “awesome”, complete with air quotes.

Damn. The air quotes. Dean laughed, ignoring the watery edge to his voice.

The camera shifted focus to Cas. Dean subconsciously leaned forward, closer to the TV screen, drinking in the sight of his one-time student boarder. “Fuck, Cas, you really did something with yourself, didn’t you,” he murmured out loud.

He was older, of course he was older. It had been ten years since the day Cas left. But aging was good to him. His face wasn’t as smooth as it had been, sun and wind and years leaving their mark, but he was still gorgeous. Full pink lips that still needed a thorough application of lip balm. That little divot in his chin. His hair was a shade longer than he used to wear it, blowing in the breeze, untidy bedhead. Dean’s fingers twitched with the desire to tame the unruly locks — or, more likely, tousle them even more.

And his eyes. Fuck, his eyes.

No one had eyes like Castiel Novak, bright blue, sparkling with intelligence and eternal curiosity. Dean remembered what those eyes looked like darkened with lust, though he’d tried to forget. He should turn the TV off. Watching this was torture, dredging up old memories, old regrets.

What could have been, if only Dean hadn’t been stupid. Colossally stupid.

Castiel on the screen walked down a narrow street in a long shot, showcasing his ass. Dean couldn’t look away, swore under his breath when the editor cut away far too soon.

He barely registered any of what Cas was actually saying, just listened to the tones of his voice, watched his face on the screen when they weren’t showing various pieces of art or architecture, sometimes playing period music. Sometimes Cas talked to other people, local experts in something or another, artisans or historians or living history enthusiasts, always bringing out the best in them. That part was a revelation. The Cas he’d known was socially awkward, something of a loner, so seeing him do so well like this was eye-opening. What had happened to transform his nerdy historian caterpillar into this confident, personable butterfly?

The show was over too soon.

Well. There was nothing for it.

Dean went back to the laptop, searched to see if earlier seasons were out on DVD yet, and ordered everything he could find.


	2. Chapter 2

Two weeks later, Castiel Novak was at a local San Francisco area bookstore for a signing of his first published book. It wasn’t the first he’d written, but now that his show had taken off there was more interest in his work. This one was non-fiction, a tie-in with his surprisingly popular PBS series. Being something of a minor celebrity never ceased to bewilder him. He’d thought the show would perhaps see some success in a very niche market, but somehow it had captured the public imagination and gotten much bigger than he’d ever dreamed. It was still a PBS show rather than a major network drama, but even so, he was recognized more and more often in public, to his own bemusement.

His publisher and producer had conspired against him to get him to do this book tour — three separate legs, one in the Northeast, one in his native Midwest, and now this last leg, in California.

“Are you ready?” Hannah Erickson, the field producer for his show, asked. She poured herself a small cup of coffee from the pot on the break room counter. “I just peeked out into the store. There’s a nice line forming.”

He adjusted his blue tie, loosening the knot. “It always surprises me that people actually show up to these things.”

She laughed as she stirred creamer into her drink. “You’re too modest. You should be used to it by now. You’ve done enough of them. Only eight more to go!”

Cas groaned. Eight more. Two today, morning and afternoon. Two more each day after that before he went home to Chicago. He shook out his hand, illusory cramps at just the idea of all the frontispieces he’d be signing.

She ruffled his hair. He swatted her hand away.

“You can do it. It’s helping out sales of the book, and marketing the show, too. Have to prove you’re worth the expense of globe-trotting like we do. Not to mention making the days of the people who watch.”

“Yes, I know.” That was actually the part he found most important. Not easiest. Never easiest. He’d learned how to be social, how to make small talk, how to make people feel comfortable, but it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done. His natural inclination was to sit with a book in a cozy corner and disappear into the words on the page, but if he wanted to educate people about the importance of history, both political and cultural, then he had to actually interact with those people. It was always rewarding, even if he had to psych himself up for the encounters each and every time. “Thank you for coming along, Hannah. I do appreciate it, even if I sometimes sound ungrateful. You’re an associate producer, not a personal assistant. This isn’t technically part of your job.”

“With our budget that’s the same thing, Cas. You’re great with the art and the history and on camera and everything, but come on. We both know you need a minder to get anywhere on time and with everything you need.”

“This book tour would have been a disaster without you.” He took a final sip of his coffee, then stood up.

Hannah straightened his tie and adjusted the shoulders and lapels of his signature trench coat, nodded in satisfaction. “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

The people in line cheered and applauded when he emerged from the back, accompanied by the  _ Connections  _ bouncy theme music. Damn. He liked the music, he really did, but he could live without it following him everywhere he went. He smiled, hoping it didn’t look more like a grimace, and gave an awkward wave. “Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming.”

Someone in the back whooped, and the others laughed.

“I appreciate the enthusiasm.”

“Thank you for coming here!” someone else called out, followed by general agreement.

Cas followed the store manager to the signing table, flushing when he took in the setup. It wasn’t that different from the others, but it always made him uncomfortable to see the huge posters mounted to the windows and on a display easel behind his seat. They were a gigantic reproduction of the book’s dust jacket, which would be fine, except they also included a giant blown-up photo of his face inset into the corner, his name emblazoned in huge letters. It might as well be glowing with neon lights and blinking for attention.

At least it was behind him when he sat down, so he didn’t have to look himself in the face all day long.

About an hour into the three hour signing event, he unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took a long drink. Exchanging a few words with each person took a toll on his voice, but clearly it meant something to them. He didn’t want to disappoint, and he didn’t want to be the asshole that scrawled a signature without even making eye contact with the people who’d been waiting in line to see him, whether he understood why they would do that or not.

Another shadow fell over the signing table. He looked up — and up some more. Holy hell, this guy was tall. Handsome, too, with glossy brown hair that fell just so about a strong jawline. The face… the face was familiar. He squinted until it hit him with a jolt.

Sam Winchester.

He came to the table with two copies of Cas’ books in hand, a shy hesitant smile on his face. “Hey, Cas. I don’t know if you remember me, but…”

“Sam. My God, Sam!” Cas stood up and came around the side of the table to give him a quick but heartfelt hug. “Holy hell, when did you get so big?”

Sam chuckled. “I grew a couple more inches after graduating high school.”

“It’s not just the height. It’s the build.” Sam’s suit jacket stretched across broad shoulders. It was a nice jacket, too, quality cut, tailored to fit. This was a far cry from the tee-shirts and plaid flannel shirts he’d worn back in Kansas.

“Oh, yeah.” His cheeks flushed, and his gaze darted shyly to the side before returning to Cas’ face. “I work out some. I have to; I have a desk job and if I didn’t I’d turn into a lump.”

“Well. I’m impressed.” He tipped his head to the side. “You must not have gone back to Kansas after Stanford.”

“Nope. I live out here now.”

Hannah chose that moment to clear her throat and lightly touch his arm, nodding towards everyone else in line behind Sam.

Well damn. He’d forgotten that he was in the middle of the bookstore, with so many curious eyes watching his every move. He saw the surreptitious movement of various cell phones, and wondered how long it would take before the photo of that hug was making the rounds. His fan base was mostly not the type to go wild with speculation and rumors, but there was a small core of people who went a little overboard with their enthusiasm. He was just the host of a mildly popular PBS show. Who could possibly care about his off-screen life? But people apparently did.

He awkwardly retreated back behind the table. “I, uh…”

Sam looked behind himself.

“Do you have things for Castiel to sign?” the assistant from the bookstore — Cas thought her name was Vanessa — asked.

“Yes, yes I do. Thank you for reminding me.” Sam put the two books down on the table. “One for me. One for Dean. I didn’t tell him about it. I wanted this to be a surprise.” He tapped on the book. “I only just found out about your show when I saw the posters for this event. I’m not sure he even knows about it.”

Dean. Dean.

A hot pang of mingled pain and longing sliced through his core. He ruthlessly squashed it, keeping his expression unchanged with herculean effort. He had to swallow before he trusted himself to talk without a quaver to his voice.

“PBS never did strike me as Dean’s cup of tea.” There. That was noncommittal enough, wasn’t it? It wouldn’t give anything away?

Hannah cleared her throat again. Cas had some distinctly uncharitable thoughts about her techniques for keeping him on task.

“You’d be surprised.” Sam smiled fondly. “But speaking of tea… do you have time after this is over? Maybe grab a coffee and catch up? It seems I’m taking too much of your time here.” 

“That sounds wonderful. Bring these then and I’ll sign them. I’d like to take a little time with them.” He took a sticky note from the top of the pad Hannah had been using to get the spelling of names for his inscription, and scrawled his cell number on it. “I’ll be done here in about two hours, text me and we can make arrangements.”

“I can do that. It’s great to see you, Cas. You look good. Really good.” Sam reached across the table to shake his hand.

“You look… really tall.”

Sam laughed before heading away again.

Cas was oddly nervous about coffee with Sam Winchester. It wasn’t anything about Sam. He was looking forward to finding out what Sam had been up to, if he’d succeeded at his goals, and how he was doing. He’d missed Sam a great deal, wondered more than once how he was doing at Stanford. He’d never wanted to lose touch with Sam, and still felt guilty about letting that happen. But being near Sam necessarily also brought to mind Dean, and Dean? That was a more complicated situation by far.

Sam entered the coffee shop, looked around, spotted Cas, and smiled. He loped over and set his bag on the opposite seat of the booth, his expression open and happy. “Hi! I’m so glad you could make it.”

Cas wrapped his hands around his paper coffee cup. “So am I. This looks like a nice place. Do you come here often?” It was small but cozy, warm colors, and served appealing pastries in addition to the coffee.

“Once in a while. It’s not far from my office, so it’s a good place to come hang out for a little while when I need to get away for a few minutes. Let me go order a coffee and I’ll be right back.”

Cas nodded. He watched Sam while he chatted amiably with the server. He was so… grown-up. The last time Cas had seen Sam Winchester was at the joint graduation party for the two of them — Sam finishing high school as valedictorian, Cas completing his bachelor’s degrees in history and art history. Sam had been so proud and excited, thrilled by how many of his teachers came to the party to wish him well.

Cas would give anything to have happier memories of that day himself.

Sam returned and slid into the booth. “It’s so great to see you, man, and to see how well you’ve been doing for yourself.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Sam. So you did well at Stanford? Did you end up going to law school, like you’d intended?”

“I did.” Sam grinned, a mix of pride and modesty in that smile. He’d always had such an expressive face, and over the three years Cas had lived with them, he’d learned how to read Sam’s face easily. “Now I’m a lawyer at Harvelle & Associates. I like it. We specialize in civil rights work.”

“I’m impressed. Do you enjoy it?”

“I do, yeah. And… it feels like I’m doing something important, you know? I thought about family law, after the way Dean and I grew up, but there’s too much divorce and bitterness in that field and I think it would have been hard to not let it get to me.”

“I can understand that. It’s difficult to have to watch how people who used to love each other are capable of hurting each other.”

“Yeah.” After a moment of silence, Sam emptied his bag and placed the two copies of Cas’ book on the table. “I’d better put these out here before I get so caught up in talking to you that I forget to have you sign these. This is really awesome, Cas. You with a TV show. Wow.”

“It’s PBS, and educational television.” He was proud of what he did, but so far as fame and fortune were concerned, there was no comparison between PBS and other networks.

“Don’t cut yourself down, man. I binged what I could find after I saw the poster, and you’re really good. I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, in some ways I’m not. You were always really good at helping me learn that stuff when you lived with us. You always made it so interesting, I considered majoring in history instead of pre-law.”

“Well. Thank you.”

“How’d you end up doing that? No, don’t answer that. I want to know, I really do, but I’m also hoping that I can talk you into dinner, tomorrow night. At my house if you’re still in town, otherwise we can drive out and meet you wherever you’re staying.”

“We?”

“I’m married, so me, my wife Jess — Jessica — and Dean.”

Dean.

Cas’ fingers tightened around his paper cup, denting the sides in. “He’s here in California?”

“Yeah. He moved out here after I started law school. He finally decided there was nothing holding him in Kansas. So he finished up his degree out here and now he’s teaching high school English.”

“That’s… good to hear.” 

Cas felt a prickle of heat behind his eyes. No. He would not, would  _ not _ , succumb to tears over Dean Winchester again. Never again. How annoying that a rush of pleasure threaded through him to hear that Dean had actually pursued his education. He shouldn’t even care, not after this long. Never mind that Cas had always thought it unfortunate that Dean wasn’t able to go straight to college after high school. The man was at least as bright as any of Cas’ fellow university students. The circumstances that led him to work multiple jobs paying little more than minimum wage were terrible. Cas still held onto a flame of anger at the Winchester brothers’ father for abandoning his family. To his mind there was no justifiable excuse for what John Winchester had done.

None.

Even so, he didn’t want to feel such pride that Dean had finally gotten his degree, to the point where he was tearing up over it. No. Just, no.

There were so many things he didn’t want to ask. So many reasons not to agree to Sam’s dinner invitation. Ten years later and he could still summon a picture-perfect memory of Dean’s beautiful green eyes. The last thing he needed was to see him in person.

But on the other hand… maybe, just maybe, if he actually spoke with him, saw him, shook his hand with a perfunctory politeness, maybe then he could finally lay those memories to rest and completely move on.

Maybe.

It was worth a shot, wasn’t it? God certainly knew that nothing else had succeeded.

Cas blew out a short breath, then nodded crisply, looked across to meet Sam’s gaze again. “I could join you for dinner tomorrow, after the afternoon event. If my assistant doesn’t have other plans, may I invite her as well? I dislike making her spend the evening by herself.”

“Of course. The woman who was glaring daggers at me when I was taking up too much of your time?”

“Hannah. Yes. She’s very good at keeping me on task, and a good friend. We don’t have a large budget for filming, and most of that is eaten up with travel expenses and permits, so we necessarily have a very small crew on location. She didn’t have to do this book tour with me, but apparently she doesn’t trust me on my own.”

Sam grinned at that. “Figures you need a caretaker, huh?”

“She’s not entirely wrong.” He picked up the books and a pen, starting with Sam’s book. “This feels strange, autographing a book for you.”

“I think it’s awesome, man. You with a TV show and a book! And this will be my proof that I can say I knew you when.”

“Only if I write something to that effect. Which I can do.” After a moment, he wrote something in the book. Sam’s was easy enough. It flowed.

But what to write for Dean?

He’d been considering that ever since Sam showed up at the morning signing. Considering? Perhaps  _ obsessing _ would be more accurate. What could he possibly say to Dean? Would anything at all be welcome? Or would Dean just take one look at the book and toss it straight into the trash without even reading it?

“He’ll be glad to hear from you,” Sam said softly.

Cas looked up. “Are you sure about that? Our association ended rather… precipitously.”

“I know. It was hard on him. On you too, I’m sure, but he’s the one I saw every day for that summer.”

“Then he shouldn’t have done what he did,” Cas snapped out, uncapping the pen and scrawling in the book, his lettering quick and far less tidy than his usual penmanship.

Sam didn’t say anything to that, and Cas immediately felt… small. Small-minded. He took a deep breath, centering himself and seeking calm.

He looked down at the book again, re-read what he’d written. He decided that even in his momentary fit of pique he hadn’t said anything he would regret the rest of his days, and decided to leave it.

He signed his name more carefully, closed the book, and set it down on top of the first. “There.” He pulled his phone out as well, unlocked it, and handed it across to Sam. “Put your address in with your other contact information. What time would you like me to arrive? I should be done with tomorrow’s signing around five.”

“Then we’ll plan for dinner to be ready about seven, and if you get there earlier that just gives us more time to catch up.” Sam tucked the books away without reading the message right away. “I’m really looking forward to this. And Jess is too. She said she can’t wait to meet you, and see if she can extract any different teen-aged Sam stories out of you. I trust that you’ll resist embarrassing me more than Dean does. Though I don’t know what you could tell her that he hasn’t already relished sharing with her.” Sam rolled his eyes, but the affection was still obvious.

“I look forward to meeting her.” Sam hadn’t mentioned anything about Dean bringing anyone… a partner, a spouse, anyone. Cassie Robinson. The name still had the power to hurt. He wanted to ask.

He didn’t want to know.

“I hate to chat and run, but if I’m going to take off a little early tomorrow I’d better get back to the office today.” Sam finished updating the contact info, then handed Cas’ phone back across after texting himself a quick message. “I’ll see you tomorrow. It’s so great to see you, man. You have no idea.” He hugged Cas before leaving, the embrace lingering a moment too long.

“I missed you too, Sam.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m coming, I’m coming, just hold your horses, dude.”

Dean opened the door to reveal his gargantuan brother. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Hi, Dean.” Sam stepped inside. Judging by the tailored pants and jacket, plus the crisp button-down shirt, he’d come right from work rather than stopping at home first. The tie was missing, but it was probably neatly folded and tucked into the glove box of his environmentally friendly clown car. “What have you been up to today?”

“Not too much. Enjoying the fact that all of my grades are turned in and my summer is now officially free. You know, aside from the part time jobs I’m planning.” He crossed the short distance to his favorite recliner and flopped down in it, kicking back and crossing his feet at the ankles. The thing was ugly as sin, as both Sam and Jess frequently pointed out. It was huge and boxy. The upholstery was an ugly shade of brown and had a few rips and tears, but it was comfortable. He’d fallen asleep in it more than once and not had a crick in his neck when he woke up, so it was staying.

“Aside from that.” Sam sat on the sofa, angled back into the corner to face his brother. He set a package wrapped in brown paper and taped haphazardly down on the coffee table, far too casually and nonchalantly for it to be unimportant. Sam thought he was subtle and clever, but the kid had never been able to pull anything over on Dean. Never.

“What’s that?” Dean gestured at the package. “Stop by the bakery and get me a pie?” It was more rectangular than square, but a guy could always hope. He hadn’t had pie in a while. Maybe he should try making one again. The last one hadn’t turned out half bad. Not that he’d ever make a trip out to one of the roadside produce stands to buy fruit straight from the farm. Nope. He’d never do a thing like that. He’d never buy fresh-from-the-field vegetables, either.

Hopefully Sam wouldn’t feel a need to go into Dean’s refrigerator, though he was reasonably certain the baby cukes and spinach were properly hidden back behind the beer.

“Hah. No. You have anything going on tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? Nothing in particular. Thought I’d give Baby an oil change and a thorough detailing. It’s been a while, and she’s been giving me looks for neglecting her. Why?”

“First things first. Open that.”

“It’s not my birthday, Sam. What’s the occasion?”

“Just open it, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his gaze. He didn’t know how much he trusted Sam. There was something going on.

Still, fastest way to figure it out was to open the damned package.

So he opened it, ripping the brown paper without much care. Inside was a book with a glossy dust jacket showing a picture of Castiel Novak, his hair all artfully disheveled, his eyes electric blue. He was standing in some sort of interesting tunnel or curved passageway, all textured and funky yet oddly compelling. At first Dean thought it was natural, but there was something about it that seemed more deliberate, more artistic. 

He was wearing that damned trench coat he’d always been so enamored of, or maybe it was a kissing cousin since it looked a little different. The title was scrawled across the blue sky — Connections with Castiel: Behind the Scenes of the hit PBS series. And down across the bottom, right across Cas’ legs, ‘Castiel Novak’.

Damn. Just… damn. “Book, huh?”

“Look inside.”

Dean opened the book. “Damn.”

He’d recognize that handwriting anywhere, even after all this time. He read the inscription.

_ To Dean— Ten years older. One hopes that the years have brought with them a modicum of wisdom. Regards, Castiel Novak. _

Well. If that wasn’t loaded. Stilted, awkward, the way Cas had always been stilted and awkward, but loaded. What the hell did that mean? Was there snark in those words? If there was, he probably deserved it.

He closed the cover. He couldn’t deal with deciphering that right now. Was he employing his trademark ‘connections’ thing? Finding meaning in the obscure?

Or was Cas just trying to fuck with him?

“When did this happen, Sam?”

“Earlier today? He, uh, he was doing a signing this morning at the bookstore near the office, so I went. Got one for myself, too.”

Cas was in California. Cas was in town, or at least he had been earlier in the day.

He forgot to breathe for a long moment.

Cas had been a matter of miles away. Sam knew, and hadn’t told him.

Sam directed his earnest puppy look at Dean, the one he used when he was convinced he’d done a good thing but at the same time was worried that Dean wasn’t going to agree. The one that meant he was digging in his heels and preparing for battle. “He looked good. Healthy. It was good to see him, really good. It’s been such a long time. I never would have thought to see our Cas on a TV show! You should check it out, Dean, it’s awesome. It’s just so him. He travels all over the world, all the time, and it’s amazing.”

“Yeah.” Dean forced himself to not look towards the drawer that held his DVD collection, including the newest additions. Thank God he’d dumped the cover back into the drawer, rather than leaving it on top of the player like he usually did.

“Wait, have you seen it?”

“Why would I have seen it? How would I even know it existed?”

“God, you have, haven’t you, and you didn’t tell me? How could you not tell me?”

Dean glared at his brother. Why did he have to pick now to be perceptive?

“It hasn’t been that long, Sam. One of my kids told me about it the last week of class.”

Sam seemed to accept that, or at least decided not to push it any further. “It’s good, right?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Though I can hardly believe the guy is doing so well at talking to the locals. Maybe they just do a lot of editing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “So anyhow, obviously I couldn’t talk to him at the bookstore. I started to, but his assistant gave me a dirty look and nudged me along, and the lady behind me in line started making impatient sounds, so I invited Cas for coffee, and we met up afterward, and well, long story short, I asked him over for dinner tomorrow night. You’re coming, right? You have to come. It’ll be great, catching up. Reconnecting. He’s still got a few more events around here before he heads home again. He might bring the assistant with him. I couldn’t exactly say no when he asked, and well, she seems nice enough, even if she was being kind of a martinet about keeping the line moving at the signing event.”

Dean’s heart stopped. Cas was here. In the Bay area.

Cas was coming to dinner at Sam’s house.

“You invited him to dinner? And he accepted?”

Seeing him on the television screen was bad enough. How the hell would Dean function being in the same room as the guy?

“Yeah, dinner at our house. As soon as he can make it after his afternoon event is over. It’s supposed to be done at 5, so he said he could be there a little after six. You’re coming, right?”

No! No way! There was no way this could be anything but a disaster.

“Uh. Yeah, yeah, I guess. It would be good to catch up.” Either good or pure torture.

Just kill him now. It would be faster, and probably less painful.


	4. Chapter 4

“Hannah? Is something wrong?”

The bookstore staff was setting up for the latest book signing event, stocking copies of his book on the table and making the occasional PA announcement counting down until he was to start. The theme music was also playing, thankfully on low volume.

They should have had all of that done before opening, in his opinion. Except for the music. That they could have just eliminated.

Cas and Hannah were, as usual, waiting in the staff break room. She’d just returned her phone to her pocket with oddly stiff movements.

Cas had known her for years. She was closer to him than anyone in his real family, with all the traveling they’d done, all the unplanned adventures they’d had. Traveling the world with a small camera crew and an extremely limited budget sometimes resulted in interesting situations. Hannah got them out of trouble, and made sure they still had fun doing it.

Hannah shook her head to clear it. “No. Well, sort of? That was my sister, Hester. You’ve met, right?”

“I believe so. In Indiana? Your hometown, Evansville?” As he recalled Hester was older than Hannah, but less ambitious. More family oriented, and faintly disapproving of Hannah’s globe-trotting career.

“Yes, that’s right. Apparently Mom is in the hospital.”

“Oh no, Hannah. I’m sorry. What happened?” He reached out to capture her hand between his, squeezing lightly in what he hoped was comfort. He wasn’t always good at handling this sort of thing, but Hannah at least knew him well enough to know his intentions were in the right place.

She smiled weakly at him, squeezing back. Her hand was icy. “It doesn’t sound too serious. Appendicitis. But she’s old enough that she doesn’t bounce back that quickly, and she needs someone with her in order to be released from the hospital, and Hester claims she can’t do it this week, and…”

“Yes, of course, you have to go. I have this.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”

“Hannah. Family comes first. Of course you have to go. Call a cab to take you to the airport. Submit your change fees to the book tour. We’ll get them covered. We can feel fortunate that we’re in California, not deep in the Australian outback.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m sure everything would be fine, but…”

“But you’d be worried and distracted, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone. Go. Contrary to popular belief, I am capable of fending for myself. For short periods of time, in any event.”

Hannah smiled at that. “That’s yet to be proven, but thank you for being willing to make the attempt.”

“Hannah. Go.”

“Going, going. But first…” She came up to him and wrapped her arms around him, her head nestling just so under his chin. It felt good, being close to someone like that. “Thank you.”

Cas took a moment to relax, but then he hugged her back. “You’re important to me, Hannah. I would be a poor excuse for a human being if I made it difficult for you to care for your family when you’ve done so much for me.”

He’d make it through the signing without her. He’d just have to recruit one of the bookstore employees to cover her role, keeping the people in order, making sure they all had something for him to sign, and being willing to gently move them along if they were taking up too much time.

He’d get by.

Or so he’d thought, anyhow. 

When he finally made it back to the rental car, he locked the doors and simply took a deep breath. His phone rang; he was tempted to ignore it, but reached over to at least check who was calling.

Balthazar. The executive producer for ‘Connections with Castiel’ was also perhaps his best friend, despite their complicated history. That meant that any conversations with him were likely to go places he’s easily be able to sidestep with anyone else. He sighed and picked up the phone.

“Hello, Balthazar.”

“Cassie, darling, you’re done with the signings for today? Ready for your evening in beautiful San Francisco?”

“I’m not in San Francisco proper. I’m in a suburb with no night life to speak of locally.”

“So if we’d booked you a hotel in the city you’d be planning a visit to the gay bars for a bit of socialization that you desperately need?” 

Silence.

“I thought not. I heard about Hannah. She got home okay, then?”

“Yes, and sounds like her mother will be fine, she just needs a little help for a few days. So she should be ready to go when it’s time to fly to Europe for the show.”

“Cassie, you wound me. I was genuinely concerned about her family.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t also genuinely concerned about the production schedule.”

“Well. All right. I can’t argue with you there. So you should catch a cab into the city and have some fun. Before you protest, yes, you might be recognized. So? Nothing wrong with taking advantage of a bit of celebrity.”

“We’ve had this discussion before, Balthazar. I am not interested in ‘fun’ with someone who is only interested in me because of my celebrity status, such as it is. Besides.” He hesitated a moment before continuing, knowing where this was going to lead. “I have dinner plans for tonight.”

“Oh? Dinner plans? Do tell.”

“An… old friend. Well.” That wasn’t going to get him very far. Balthazar was one of the few people who actually knew about Dean, who knew the whole story. Dean had, after all, indirectly been the reason that Cas and Balthazar ultimately didn’t work. He sighed. “Sam Winchester came to one of my signings and invited me to dinner.”

“Wait. Sam Winchester? Sam  _ Winchester _ ? As in your college crush’s kid brother?”

“Balthazar.”

“Castiel. You accepted this invitation?”

“I did.” He considered a moment longer, then dropped the other tidbit. “Dean is invited as well.”

Dead silence, and then… “Oh, Cassie. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I hope I do, too.”


	5. Chapter 5

The day was a bust. Dean couldn’t concentrate on anything. If he’d gone ahead and started picking up shifts at Benny’s Diner right away after the school year was over then at least he’d have something to distract him, but no. He had to decide that a short vacation was a good idea.

What the hell had he been thinking? When had he ever been good at vacations, at time to himself? Too much time to think was a disaster.

Of course not taking time at all to think had also proven disastrous, so basically he was screwed either way.

Still, he was going crazy at home, so he texted Jess to see if it was okay if he came over early. She was an artist and worked from home, which was convenient on days like this.

He knocked on the back door as he opened it, not bothering to wait for an answer. “Hey there, gorgeous.”

Jess looked over and grinned at him. “Right back atcha, sweetie.” She stood up and came over to wrap him in a warm hug. Damn, but it wasn’t just Sam that got lucky when he met her. Jess was sweet and tart at the same time, in just the right proportions. “So you going to help me with dinner? It’s only just after two, and your friend isn’t supposed to show up until around 6.”

“Dinner, whatever else you need.” Dean reached around her to snatch a grape out of the bowl on the table. “Why don’t you guys keep candy bowls like normal people?”

“We do. We just know to hide them when we know you’re going to be around.”

“Right. Like I believe that, with that giant rabbit you married.”

She laughed.

“What were you going to make for dinner, anyhow?”

“I thought lasagna. Always a classic choice. With a side salad, and red wine. Or white if preferred, but I like red with lasagna.”

“Garlic bread?”

“You want to go the garlic route with a guest?”

“You can’t have lasagna without garlic bread. Four hours? Hm. Probably not quite enough time to make it from scratch, but I can run to the bakery and get the good Italian bread loaf and make the garlic spread.”

“I already have the good Italian bread loaf. It’s in the pantry.”

“Damn. Tell me again how you let Sam marry you? You’re way too good for him.”

“I know.”

Eventually, while they were working together in the kitchen prepping the food, Jess casually began the expected interrogation. “So. Tell me more about Cas. Sam says he rented a room at your house while he was going to KU?”

Dean’s hands stalled for a moment in mixing up the garlic spread, his pulse speeding up and his throat closing up. He swallowed hard and forced himself to continue working with studied nonchalance. “Yeah, that’s right. Sam’s brilliant idea.”

“He didn't say that.”

“Well he wouldn't, would he? I was 19 at the time. I'd gotten dad to sign over legal guardianship of Sam to me. He hadn't been around in a couple months, and things were tight. I tried not to let him know just how tight, but Sam at 15 was catching on to things that Sam at six completely missed. He wanted me to go to college. That wasn’t going to happen. We didn’t have the money for it, and I didn’t have the time. Not when I was working as much as I was. The house was paid for, at least, but we still had to pay utilities, property tax, and food. Gods. Food. But you know how he is when he gets set on an idea.” Dean shook his head in mingled fondness and exasperation.

“Like a dog with a bone,” Jess agreed. “Won’t let go of it for anything.”

“Yeah. I finally convinced him that there was no way in hell I was going to manage to be a full-time student while also paying all the bills, but he just shifted his focus. If I couldn’t go full time, I could still take one or two night classes. Dad was never home, so that room was sitting empty. Sam had this brilliant idea of renting out to a student.

“I wasn’t about to rent out Dad’s room. If he did come home — and he did, occasionally — there would be hell to pay if some college student was sleeping in his bed. Anyhow, we ended up cleaning up my room, and I moved into Dad’s room, figuring I’d either share with Sam or sleep on the couch when Dad swung through between jobs. Put up a room for rent ad on campus, and after a couple applicants that there was no way in hell I’d let live in the same house as Sam, Cas showed up.”

“So what was it about him that made you agree to let him stay, after the ones you rejected?”

“Man, that was so long ago.” As if he’d ever forgotten anything about that first day. He looked up into the corner of the ceiling, staring blankly while retrieving those memories. “He was… have you seen his show at all?”

“I’ve watched it once or twice since Sam discovered it existed. Which was only a week or so ago, so.”

“Once or twice is enough to see how he is. Weird geeky, but definitely an academic. Serious about his passions. He didn’t give the impression that he was looking for a place he could turn into party central. If it had been just me, I would have been all over that. But.”

“But Sam was only 15, and you were still paranoid that the guardianship wouldn’t necessarily save you if you got in trouble.”

“Yeah. Or worse, if he got in trouble. You know how smart he is. Kid had a future. I didn’t want to fuck it up, you know?”

“So Cas looked like someone who wouldn’t cause problems? Is that the way it worked out?”

“Yep. He was… an ideal boarder, you know? Quiet, studious. Polite. Responsible.” At first. He didn’t let the wicked sense of humor show until later.

“Boring?”

“No, not after he opened up around us. I mean, he stayed until he finished school. Moved in the start of his sophomore year, stayed through graduation.”

“Sam said you lost touch after graduation.”

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah.” That was a gross oversimplification, but for right now, it worked. Lost touch. How about ‘I drove him off with a stake through the heart’?

Honestly, it was a miracle the guy was willing to come tonight. Maybe he didn’t actually know Dean was going to be there. Had Sam said so? He couldn’t remember. Everything had gone fuzzy after Sam said he was coming over. It wouldn’t be like Sam to not say anything, though.

He could feel himself tensing up again, that knot tightening from his stomach outward. He couldn’t entirely decide if it was dread or hope.

Probably both.

He needed to move or he was going to jump out of his skin.

“I’m going to go run the vacuum cleaner.”


	6. Chapter 6

Cas slowly drove down the street the GPS promised he’d find Sam’s house on, craning his head to look at the house numbers. It was a nice neighborhood — well-maintained, houses slotting solidly in upper-middle-class territory. The yards were minuscule, especially compared to those in the midwest, but on the other hand, compared to some of the more crowded parts of the world, even this seemed spacious.

Baby was in one of the driveways, bathed in light, sparkling where the sun hit her chrome, the black gleaming. Cas’ breath got stuck in his throat as he was overwhelmed with emotion, with a swirl of mental images. Dean out in the yard with a bucket of soapy water, his shirt wet as he cleaned every inch of his beloved car, always on a cloudy day ‘because it’s better for her’. Dean leaning against her, laughing. The two of them driving nowhere in particular, just because it was a nice day.

Baby. God. Baby was there, which meant that Dean was there, which meant that all of this was real. He was really about to set foot into a house where Dean was.

This was a mistake. He could still turn around and leave, could pretend this had never happened. The thought was ridiculously tempting.

Yet he’d come this far, and he was curious. It was his fatal flaw. Curious, always, poking and prodding into things even if they were better left alone. It was only dinner. One evening, and if he had to, he could leave at any time. The car was here, waiting. Worst case he could bump up his flight, cancel out on the last signings. There would be consequences to that, but the option was still there if needed.

Knowing that helped. He’d learned, when forcing himself to improve at interacting with people, that if he had an exit plan in the back of his mind, it was always easier to move forward. Giving himself permission to leave made it easier for him to stay, strange as it seemed.

He put the rental car in park, stepped out and locked up.

It had been so long, but he’d never entirely been able to set aside his feelings for Dean. Even the utter humiliation of that last day hadn’t been enough to kill them.

After gathering his courage for a moment on the charming front porch, he rang the bell.

Dean answered. Dean.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

He couldn’t wrench his gaze away from the other man. Dean was… Dean was so very, incontrovertibly Dean. He’d changed a great deal, but at the same time he hardly seemed to have changed at all. He was still unbelievably handsome, with those beautiful eyes, his perfect sandy hair, his features that could rival the finest sculptures. Castiel had been in the same room as Michelangelo’s David. Seeing that sculpture the first time had taken his breath away. Reading about it was one thing, even watching documentaries about it, but being in the same room? There was something indefinable, intangible, in the perfect imperfections of the sculpture. There were copies in the courtyard outside the museum where the David was housed. Those copies were beautiful, spectacular even, but didn’t begin to prepare him for seeing the actual sculpture. Cas could have sworn that the marble was somehow alive, that David would take a breath at any moment, shrug the stiffness from his shoulders, and make eye contact with the tourists in the room, blinking.

Dean was equally beautiful, and even more alive.

Dean broke first, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other and stepping to the side. “Come on in.”

“Thank you.”

“Sam just got home; he’s changing out of his monkey suit. Jess is in the kitchen. Sam’s wife. He tell you he’s married?”

“Yes, he mentioned it when he invited me here.” He followed Dean inside, looking around with curiosity. Sam had clearly done well for himself. The house wasn’t huge, but it was comfortable, and in good repair. The furnishings were clean and neutral, designed to make the art stand out more. The artwork on the walls looked to be original, with a consistent modern abstract style that suggested it was all by the same artist. The colors tended towards warm oranges and yellows, with surprisingly harmonious splashes of teal or vibrant purple. He wanted to study them, see what kind of meanings he could extract, but that would have to wait. 

They were barely inside when a woman came out from the back — tall, blond, with a lovely smile. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Jess, and you’re Castiel, and it’s such a pleasure to meet you.” She came forward and shook his hand. “Welcome to our house. Did you have any problems finding the place?”

“No, not at all. GPS helps tremendously. It’s a delight to meet you, Jess. Thank you for having me.”

“Wasn’t your friend coming as well?”

“She had a family emergency and had to leave unexpectedly.”

“Oh no!” Jess’ face filled with concern. “I hope it’s not too serious?”

“Her mother had minor surgery and needs someone home with her, so it’s not too serious but does need immediate attention. She should be well soon, but Hannah would have been worrying and I can manage for a short time without her, even if she doesn’t necessarily believe so.”

“Hannah, huh?” Dean said.

“Yes. She’s part of the crew for the show, coordinates everything. She’s very good at her job, and a good friend.”

“That’s cool.”

“Come on back, you guys can sit in the kitchen and we’ll chat while dinner finishes up. It’s almost ready, we’ll eat as soon as Sam gets down.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean pulled out the chair across from Cas, wincing as it scraped across the hardwood floor. “Sorry,” he mouthed at Jess. She just gave him one of her enigmatic smiles, making him wonder what the hell Sammy had told her.

Making him wonder what the hell Sammy even knew, or had suspected. Kid rarely kept his mouth shut, but there were times the look in his eyes was so… so knowing that it creeped Dean right the hell out.

“Oh. I brought this,” Cas said, holding out the brown paper bag he’d been carrying towards Jess. “Wine, and a bottle of bourbon, too.”

“You didn’t have to, but thank you.” She accepted the gift, brought it back into the kitchen. “We can have it with the meal, or after, for the bourbon.”

Cas nodded, then turned his attention back to Dean. Dean was struck silent under the force of his gaze.

Cas looked so good, so stupidly good. He’d filled out since his years at KU, his shoulders broader, his arms thicker. His face had aged, of course, no longer quite so smooth, lines around his eyes and faintly in his brow, but it still looked good. Unfairly good. Better in person than on that TV show. He pressed his fingertips into his thigh under the table, wanting so badly to reach out and ruffle his fingers through Cas’ hair — and he’d screwed that one up years ago, he had to right to even think that, let alone actually do it.

Cas tipped his head to the side, and damn if Dean hadn’t missed that, even if he hadn’t realized quite how much until this moment. “Sam mentioned that you are a teacher now?”

“He did, huh?” Dean shrugged one shoulder, feeling oddly self-conscious at the scrutiny. He ran his hand through his hair, then back the other direction. “Yeah. High school lit, with one hour of creative writing. During the year, that is. Summer break right now, and I’m not teaching summer school this year.”

Cas smiled. “So you did get your degree.”

“Yeah. Took a while. I’ve only been teaching for two years now.”

“It doesn’t matter that it took some time. I’m pleased for you. You enjoy it?”

Dean couldn’t stop a small smile as he thought about it. “Yeah, I do. I mean, they’re high school kids, hormonally challenged, sometimes mean little shits. But then you get that moment when something they’re reading resonates with them, those moments in a class discussion when someone makes a point that makes the others think, that pure joy of discovery when a book expresses something meaningful to them… and when you can just see comprehension clicking in a kid’s head when you explain it just that little bit differently… I don’t know. I hope it makes a difference for them.”

And fuck, that got too deep. He shifted uncomfortably, but Cas was nodding and it looked like he understood, and of course he did.

“That’s one thing I regret about television as a medium. I can’t watch the faces of my viewers, so I can’t see those moments in real time. I can only hope that they’re happening. Sometimes there are letters that communicate that same sentiment, and it’s one of the biggest rewards of doing this. It’s the part I enjoy about these appearances… actually getting to hear people share their stories with me in person.”

Dean was about to ask how he’d gotten into it when Sam came downstairs. He grinned happily to see Cas and Dean both at the kitchen table. He didn’t have to say anything. Dean just knew that he was plotting Things.

Part of him had known as soon as Sam mentioned he’d invited Cas for dinner.

“Hi!” he said. “You made it!”

“I did,” Cas agreed. “You have a lovely home. I don’t believe I said that before. My apologies, Jessica.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “You had other things on your mind. No worries.”

Sam came over and kissed her quickly but sincerely, smiling and letting his hand caress her. He and Jess brought the food out to the table, poured the wine, then settled in.

“So what happened to your friend?” Sam asked. “Thought she was going to come?”

Cas explained again about Hannah’s family emergency, and Sam expressed his sympathy.

“You said, earlier, that she’s a producer on your show, too?” Sam asked.

“Yes, she is.”

“Gotta admit, I was surprised to see you had a TV show. Someone I know is a celebrity!”

Cas laughed self-consciously. “Hardly that.”

“Please. Dean, you should have seen the posters in the book store. They were like six feet tall, with Cas’ face all over them, bigger than life. That’s definitely being a celebrity.”

“Perhaps to an extremely niche audience.”

“I don’t know, dude, everyone at work has heard of you. How’d you get into television, anyhow?”

“See? Told you he’d want to know,” Dean said triumphantly.

Cas’ lips twitched, and he nodded. “You did indeed say that, yes.” Cas took a sip of his drink, a droplet clinging to his lower lip for a moment before he swiped it away with his tongue.

Damn, that was hot. Dean shifted uncomfortably. He’d lost his right to think of anything Cas did as ‘hot’ a decade ago. If he’d ever had the right to begin with.

“How I got into television. It’s not really that interesting of a story. I met someone in grad school; a man named Balthazar.”

“Balthazar, seriously? There are actually people named Balthazar?”

“Dean. My name is Castiel. I am hardly in a position to comment on unusual names.”

“Well, but… okay, that’s a fair point. Never mind. Go on.”

“Thank you. Balthazar. He was working at a production company at the time, and had ambitions to become a producer/director himself. He is also something of a history enthusiast, which is how we initially connected. He convinced me to shoot a test episode of a series about history and culture, primarily to use as an element in his portfolio as he sought to advance his career. He showed it to the head of his studio, who somehow thought it had potential, and we went from there. The first show was small, produced for the local PBS station. We did the traveling on a shoestring budget, one hand-held camera, just Balthazar and myself, and minimal post-production. But somehow it caught on, and the second season our budget grew enough to cover better equipment, and a field producer. That is Hannah, the friend you met at the signing.” Cas directed that last to Sam.

“That’s so awesome,” Sam said. “I’m sure there’s a lot more to it than that. Why is it that you can spin really great stories about art and history, but when it comes to yourself you’re all modest and minimal?”

“I’m not that interesting.”

“You kind of are, man. The long lines at the store would tend to support that.”

“Well.” Cas blushed, took another sip of his wine and a bite of the lasagna.

“The show’s good,” Dean said, feeling awkward as he said so. “I… watched it. A little.” Cas didn’t need to know, yet, that he’d obsessively watched every episode he could get access to.

“Thank you.”

“How’d the book happen?” Jess asked.

“I’ve always been more comfortable writing than being on camera. The book is a compilation and reworking of things I’ve had written for years, with some anecdotes from filming added in. So it was easy, relatively speaking. The show gave me the platform to get a publisher for it.”

“And now you have a book signing tour! How’s that going?”

“Well. It’s nerve-wracking, honestly. Being the center of attention like that.”

“Dude, you have a television show. Aren’t you used to being the center of attention?”

“Recording the episodes is a completely different experience. When we’re in the field, it’s usually just the three of us, and perhaps some local people I’m talking to. It’s much more… intimate, and therefore more natural and easy. The signings are crowds of strangers, all watching me.” He shuddered.

“You looked like you were handling it okay when I was there,” Sam offered.

“I have learned that if I concentrate on just the person in front of me, and pretend that the others aren’t there, or at least aren’t there for me, I can get through them. It’s still difficult. I’m glad there are only two days left, but on the other hand, Hannah left. I’m not looking forward to doing this on my own.”

Dean could tell that was an understatement. Perhaps they hadn’t seen each other in a decade, but he could still tell. There was a tension around Cas’ eyes and a stiffness to his shoulders when he spoke of it that said he was closer to pure dread than just not looking forward to it.

“Well, Dean’s off for the summer. He can be your assistant while she’s gone,” Sam volunteered.

The bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach. The same feeling as being in an old elevator that suddenly dropped a couple of inches but felt like it was plummeting down, leaving the rest of him stuck against the ceiling. What the hell?

There wasn’t also a thread of pleasure at the idea. Nope. Not at all. The thought of spending extended time with Cas? Nothing to see here. Move along, move along.

He didn’t dare look at Cas. Cas wasn’t saying anything, though.

“You said it’s just a few more days, right?” Sam pressed on.

Cas cleared his throat. “Well… yes. There are two more days of signings in the general area before I return to San Francisco for the red-eye flight back to Chicago the day after tomorrow.”

“So there you go. You don’t have anything planned yet, right, Dean?”

“Well, no, but Sam, you can’t just… just…”

“You can’t volunteer your brother’s services,” Cas stepped in, sounding mildly reproving.

“I’m just suggesting it. It’s a good idea. You need help, Dean has time. And he likes to drive.” He turned towards Dean, then, his lawyer-persuasion turned right up top of the dial. “You like to drive, you were saying not that long ago that you wanted to jump in Baby and hit the road.”

“Sam, Cas doesn’t want me hanging around like that. You’re putting him in an awkward position.”

“Me? He’s putting  _ you  _ in an awkward position.”

“He’s putting both of you in an awkward position,” Jessica said, pointing at all three of them in turn with her fork. “But that said, he’s not wrong. It’s just a couple days. It’ll be nice, you can catch up more. You used to live in the same house, you must be able to get along well enough for two short days.”

Dean finally looked at Cas.

Cas looked back at Dean.

Damn.

This was a Bad Idea. Supremely reckless, and likely to be a disaster. But.

Dean shrugged. “I guess I could do it. Sam’s right. I don’t have anything else going on for the next few days, nothing I can’t easily postpone.”

“If you’re sure. I… it would be easier with someone to keep me company,” Cas grudgingly admitted

Sam smiled. “Then it’s decided.”


	8. Chapter 8

Early the next morning Dean pulled up outside the car rental place near the airport to pick Cas up. If they were taking a road trip, even a short one around the Bay area, there was no way in hell Dean was going to ride in some generic rental and leave Baby behind. No way in hell. So they’d made arrangements for Cas to return the rental early.

He was just pulling out his phone to text Cas when the lobby door opened and he walked out, spotting Dean immediately. Dean got out of the car and went around to open the trunk.

“G’morning, Cas. I was just going to text you.”

“I was waiting in the lobby. Baby is as unmistakable as ever.” Cas reached out to run an appreciative hand over her rear fender, ending with a gentle pat. Such a small gesture, but it made Dean’s heart ache with affection. How could he have forgotten that Cas always had a proper respect for Baby? He wasn’t into cars, but he appreciated beauty in all its various forms. That came through loud and clear in the episodes of his TV show, where he spent a surprising amount of time discussing simple, everyday items and lauding how they weren’t just practical, but also beautiful.

He’d always l-liked that about Cas, the way he could find the beauty in small things. Not that Baby was a small thing.

Dean lifted Cas’ bag into the trunk, setting it down beside his own duffel. “That’s all you’ve got? I thought you’d have more. Books, or something.”

“It’s just a day bag. The extra book orders are placed by the stores, and the staff there set up the signing area before I get there. It’s on them to have enough stock on hand.”

“I guess that makes sense. I started reading the book last night, after I got home. It’s pretty good. Lots of pictures.” He shot Cas a grin, amused by the implicit humor in an English teacher praising a book for its large number of pictures.

Cas chuckled at that. “Lots of pictures, yes. It’s easier to discuss the continuity of visual patterns with actual examples in the book.”

“The stories are good too, though. I could totally hear your voice when I was reading. Sounds just like you. Which I know shouldn’t be a surprise, but… it kind of was.”

“Thank you. It’s surprisingly difficult to do that. When people speak they aren’t usually very linear, they’ll circle off to another topic and sometimes never come back. There was a great deal of editing, choosing which stories to include, and which to leave out. Some were easy to decide.”

“It’s cool, though, you having your own book. Too bad it’s non-fiction. I don’t think I could come up with a way to justify teaching it in one of my lit classes next year.”

They got into the car, settling in with Cas in the passenger seat. The most awkward part of that was that it wasn’t awkward at all. How could this still feel so natural? It wasn’t even as though they’d driven many places together, back in the day. Movies, once in a while. The occasional day trip for something Sam wanted to do, or to one of Sam’s school events. He’d been on the soccer team, which meant road trips to the away games. Cas came along when his schedule permitted.

Dean went to extraordinary lengths to get those hours off of his jobs. It didn’t always work out, but most of the time he was able to pull something together. Yet another thing that Sam took for granted, not understanding just how much of an effort that required.

“We used to go to Sam’s soccer games, now and then,” Cas said, startling Dean with how closely their thoughts paralleled.

“Yeah. That was before he put those last inches on. Hard to believe there was a time he was the runt.”

“I was astonished by how far up I had to look when he came to the signing table. And yet he was instantly recognizable. I think it was the expression, that hopeful puppy look in his eyes and the sheepish half grin, as though he wasn’t sure of his reception but was putting himself out there anyhow.”

“No reason he should have felt that way.” It wasn’t Sam that Cas had issues with. Dean knew that.

Cas looked at him sideways. “No,” he said softly. “No reason he should have felt that way.”

Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Nope. He wasn’t ready to take this conversation any further. Maybe he never would be. Maybe he would. But not right now. Not yet. 

He pursued the tried and true method of changing the topic entirely. “Okay, so based on the itinerary you left me, there are two signings today around the Bay area, broadly defined? Then roaming a little farther tomorrow, but still a reasonable driving distance?”

Cas nodded. “Exactly.”

The first event for the day wasn’t that far, less than an hour’s drive. 

“So this is it, huh?” Dean looked out the window at the bookstore. The large front window was stacked with copies of Cas’ book, and one of those posters with his picture on them was prominently displayed. The display was even more prominent than the two stores they’d done yesterday. 

“I’d say that’s a good indication.” All of the parking spaces near the store were full, and even from the street he could tell that the place was busy. There was a line inside, not quite long enough to extend out onto the sidewalk.

He pulled around to the back, as Cas directed him. “Does it ever feel weird? Seeing your face on posters in store windows?”

“Every time,” Cas admitted. “At least the book cover is more the landscape than it is me. They had wanted to have it be just my face. I argued for the scenery. I don’t actually have much say in the design choices; I was fortunate that they either listened to me or decided on their own that since it’s a travel-related book, having beautiful European scenery on the cover was a good signal of what the contents are.”

“Do you ever do those fundraising drives on the PBS stations? The ones where you stand awkwardly in front of the camera and urge people to call, or pledge online, and if they pledge five dollars a month they’ll get this beautiful black mug!”

Cas laughed. “I have, yes. Public television is important, and if my spending a few minutes on camera helps to raise additional money, I’m happy to do it, if I’m in the area. Or even a phone call, or sometimes a pre-recorded segment from my home.”

They walked around to the back door and rang the bell. The woman who opened the door looked harried, but smiled when she saw them. “Oh, Mr. Novak! You made it! We were starting to worry.”

Cas frowned and checked his watch. “We’re still half an hour early, aren’t we?”

“Well, yes, but people have been showing up since we first opened, and, well, I’m a bit of a worrier, I have to admit. Come on in, I’ll show you around the back. I’m Emily. And this is?” She smiled at Dean, too.

“This is Dean Winchester, my friend. He’ll be acting as my assistant today.”

Dean was absurdly grateful that there hadn’t been any hesitation before Cas used the word ‘friend’. He hoped that meant they really were friends again, at this point. “Hello, pleased to meet you.” He shook Emily’s hand, and followed her and Cas into the back of the store. This was definitely not retail space. There were industrial strength shelves with cardboard boxes, and in one corner a small break area, with cupboards, an old table and chairs, and a small refrigerator, microwave, and sink.

“It’s not much,” Emily said. “There’s a staff bathroom through that door there, if you need the facilities. There are sodas and water in the fridge; help yourself to anything you’d like. And if you’d like to hang your coat up, you can see the coat rack there.” She swept up a tiny piece of stray paper and dropped it in the waste can. “Thank you so much for coming. We’re all just so excited!”

“Thank you for having me,” Cas said. Dean hid a smirk. He sounded delightfully pained to say that, which Dean found ridiculously endearing. The fact that Cas sounded like he’d rather be almost anywhere else shouldn’t be amusing. It really shouldn’t be. But somehow that made him seem more like the Cas he knew, rather than this Castiel Novak who somehow became culturally significant.

They had just enough time to freshen up and to have a quick cup of not bad coffee before the store PA system came to life and the theme song from Cas’ show piped through the speakers.

Cas groaned. “I used to like this song,” he muttered.

Dean grinned. “Too much?”

“It follows me everywhere. That’s my cue, though. You ready for this?”

“Question is if you’re ready for this.”

Cas sighed and led the way to the door opening out into the retail space. Dean came behind him, not sure what to expect.

The line of people winding around the store space sure as hell wasn’t it. “Wow. They’re all here for you?”

“Look, there he is!” One of the people exclaimed, and then suddenly there was cheering and waving.

Cas waved as well, visibly transforming into his stage personality. He squared his shoulders, opened his stance, and walked forward with confidence towards the signing table. There was an easel next to the table that held a giant poster of his book cover, and even larger posters hung in the windows, all with Cas’ smiling face—not to mention the stacks of books and DVDs prominently on display.

“Wow.”

The time flew past. At first Dean wasn’t sure what to do with himself, other than watch in a little bit of awe as Cas greeted person after person, smiling, taking selfies, signing book covers and magazines and photos and whatever the hell else the various people wanted him to scrawl his name on. Soon enough, though, he started to recognize how he could help. When Cas’ Sharpie started to skip, he provided a new one. When his voice started to get extra rough, Dean pushed a bottle of water at him. And when people brought too much stuff to sign, he tactfully pointed out the limit and moved them along.

On the rare occasions that one of the patrons got a little too pushy, a little too demanding, Dean didn’t mind playing bad cop. It wasn’t so different from getting control of an unruly classroom, after all.

By the time it was over and they escaped into the sanctuary of Baby’s interior, Dean was thoroughly impressed.

“Is it always like that?”

Cas rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair, rolling his shoulders to release the tension. “More or less. That was fairly typical. Thank you for your assistance.”

“I can see why you need a helper. If you didn’t have anyone keeping an eye on you, you’d talk to everyone far too long. It’s great that you’re willing to listen to people, but you’d never get out of there.”

“I’m not particularly good at gracefully disengaging from a conversation. Hell, I’m not particularly good at gracefully engaging into a conversation. Fortunately the fans do the work.”

“I disagree. You did a great job with the ones who were so starstruck they couldn’t form words.”

“It may have looked that way on the surface.”

“That’s all that matters when you’re talking a five minute interaction. And you talk to people all the time on your show. You’re good at it.”

“Dean. Have you ever heard of this concept called ‘editing’?”

Dean grinned. “So you’re saying watching the blooper reel would be a worthwhile experience?”

“Mm. I decline to answer on the grounds that it may be incriminating.”

Damn, he’d missed this. The easy back and forth. And the way Cas spoke, his formal language and sentence structure, the sense of humor that was so subtle most people missed it entirely. 


	9. Chapter 9

After the event was over, Cas arched his back to stretch before sitting down in Baby’s passenger seat. “We have to be at the next event by two.”

“So time enough for lunch, as long as it’s more or less on the way.”

“Yes, as long as we still make it on time.”

“I know a place. It’s not fancy, and it’s a little bit off the most direct route, but worth it. We’ll still be able to get there without being late.”

“I’ll trust your judgment.”

After driving for some time, Dean turned off of the main thoroughfare, taking them through a scenic rural drive and ending up in a small, picturesque town reminiscent of villages in northern Italy. He parked in a public parking lot. “Ready to stretch your legs? Thought you might like this place.”

“I do,” Cas said with a nod.

“It doesn’t feel kind of… I don’t know, cheesy? Compared to the real thing?” Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Perhaps a little, but not in a negative way. If you’ve watched my show at all you know that borrowing elements of other places and cultures isn’t at all unique across the world. Merely because this happened within the last century rather than hundreds of years ago doesn’t negate the concept.”

It was a lovely day, edging towards getting hot but not quite there yet. Cas fell into step beside Dean as they walked along the town’s main street. If he was scouting out a location for the show he’d be seeking out the local library and historical society, asking people about the stories unique to this place and time. It was relaxing to not have to do that, to just be able to enjoy the day.

He couldn’t stop himself from thinking that if his life had played out the way he’d dreamed when he was younger, this could be an ordinary weekend for him. For them. He and Dean, taking weekend day trips to explore the region, strolling side by side along small-town sidewalks, an easy companionship. The only difference would be that they might be holding hands, and there might be gold rings on their fingers.

Cas had to stop that before the weight in his chest became suffocating. “Would this place happen to be a diner or bakery?”

Dean shot him a look. “Dude. Not every destination I’ve ever been is because of a local diner or bakery.”

“Just ninety percent of them. And hey, look.” He pointed out a sign two blocks ahead. “Is that a pie shop?”

“Maybe.”

Cas laughed. “Some things never change. Is it good pie?”

“You’ll have to judge for yourself.”

“Of course. And do they sell something suitable for lunch as well?”

“Soup and sandwiches. Nothing too fancy. The pie is the main attraction.”

The aroma of freshly baked pastries surrounded them even before they opened the door: cinnamon, apple, the unique yeasty deliciousness of bread just out of the oven. Cas’ mouth watered. The goods were displayed artistically in the glass case, lit just so to highlight the colors of the fruit, the perfect golden-brown of the crusts. There was a meringue with pure white swirls, each peak the ideal toasted golden brown. A cherry pie had a lattice crust and a decorative bit of crust cut out into a pair of cherries with joined stems. Every creation looked beautiful.

He looked at the young man behind the counter and smiled. “If these taste even a fraction as good as they look…”

The kid gave him a cheeky grin. “They taste even better than they look.”

Cas heard a choked sound behind him. He shot a glance over his shoulder to Dean. “Are you having a moment, Dean?”

Dean shook himself and came forward. “Hell yes I am. Oh my God, how am I supposed to choose? If we weren’t on a road trip with no good way to keep things…”

“They’ll keep for a while,” the clerk volunteered, clearly sensing easy prey.

Cas shared a grin with him. “Once, when we were very young, Dean here drove us three hours just to go to a bakery that he said had amazing apple dumplings.”

“They did!”

“Mm. All right, yes, they did.” There was something about seeing Dean enraptured that did something to Cas, twisted something low in his gut, mixed pain and pleasure. He chose to focus on the pleasure for now, ignore the pain. He could deal with that later. Much later. He’d store these memories, pull them out one at a time, savor them when he was feeling in a particularly masochistic mood.

He pulled himself together again.

“Is that peach?” Dean asked, pointing to a pie that had a beautifully labeled card in front of it, which clearly read ‘Bourbon Peach’.

“Uh, yeah. That one’s peach.”

“Peach  _ and bourbon _ , Cas!”

“They have more than just pie,” Cas pointed out. “The dessert bars look delightful. As do the cupcakes.”

“Rude, Cas. Just rude. You’re sounding like Sam. Cupcakes.” He said the word with such utter disdain that it was all Cas could do not to laugh.

“What was I thinking.”

“Clearly you weren’t.”

Dean seemed to be in physical pain trying to decide. He narrowed it down to the peach, cherry, or classic apple, but kept changing his mind from there.

Finally Cas tugged lightly on Dean’s sleeve. “Dean. Lunch first. You can debate which pie to get while we eat.”

Lunch was good. Simple, but good. Dean still hadn’t decided on his pie flavor by the time they were once more standing at the counter, paying their dinner bill. “Bourbon Peach? Cherry? Apple? Yeah, apple. No. Bourbon peach. But there’s cherry. Cherry, Cas!”

Cas finally elbowed him aside and smiled at the clerk.

“We’ll take a slice of all three, plus one of the lemon meringue and a slice of the salted honey pie.” He pulled his wallet out. “And could you tell us where we can buy a small cooler?”

“I have a cooler in the trunk,” Dean said.

“Well then, never mind about the cooler.”

They stopped at a small park to sample the pie before heading back to the car. “What’s with salted honey pie? That just sounds weird.”

Cas dipped his fork into his pie. “It’s custard based.”

“Yeah, well, custard pie is low on the pie scale too, though I’ll grant it still gets points just by virtue of being pie. But why would you choose custard pie when you can have peach bourbon?”

“I anticipated that you would give me a taste so that I could have both. Both is better than one or the other. In this case.”

Dean stopped and looked at him. “Well… okay, you got me there.” He took a bite of the peach bourbon. The expression of pure ecstasy on his face made Cas very uncomfortable. He shifted on the hard picnic bench. Well damn. That expression… he’d seen it before, but such a long time ago, and in an entirely different context.

Damn, damn, damn.

Life wasn’t fair. It had been so long, and then all it took was one short day? One short day and all of the longing was right there again, as though it had never gone away.

It never had. He’d just gotten accustomed to ignoring it, he supposed. Ignoring it from a distance was easier than ignoring it when Dean was right there, right in front of him.

Damn.

The second signing event went well, not quite as many people as the first, but still successful. It was late when they arrived at the hotel, and after the long day Cas was not prepared for a snafu with the reservations.

“But I know we booked two rooms,” Cas insisted.

“I need the confirmation numbers.”

“I already told you, my associate had those and she had to leave for a family emergency.”

“I’m only showing one room in the system, sir. One was cancelled yesterday, early enough to avoid the late cancellation fee. And then it was rebooked. We’re busy today, as you can see. There’s a knitting convention taking place locally, and we’ve been full for weeks.”

“But…”

Dean came up and nudged him to the side. “Hi,” he greeted the desk clerk with his warmest, most personable smile. “Tell me, is the room a double?”

“Two queens, yes.”

“Then we can make it work. Right, buddy?”

Cas stared for a long moment, dealing with his frustration. Bad enough that he’d been with Dean so much of the day, now he had to spend the night in the same room? He’d been counting on the small distance to retain his sanity and regroup before tomorrow.

He growled. “Fine. We can make it work.” He flipped his card onto the counter with unnecessary force.

The room was hotel standard — two queens, a large flat screen TV on the dresser across from the beds, a small refrigerator, microwave, and coffeemaker on hand. The decor was nothing to write home about. The bedspreads were a weird green-beige abstract pattern, with the occasional burst of orange. The artwork on the wall was also abstract splotches of color. Cas didn’t have anything against abstract art. Honestly, he preferred it to the usual bland prints of works that weren’t very good to begin with. There were times his education in art history was as much a curse as anything else. His own apartment back in Chicago was nearly bare. His tastes and standards were such that he couldn’t afford very much of what actually appealed to him. He made do with souvenirs from his travels. He intended to have them put in frames or on stands to display them properly. Even simple, inexpensive objects looked much more impressive when mounted in an attractive display. But he still hadn’t done it.

Dean dropped his duffel on one of the beds. “Mind if I take the one closer to the door?”

“No, of course not.” If they were going to be sharing a room, despite his wishes to the contrary, it was unfortunate that they didn’t end up just going the whole way and having a single king, rather than the two queens. If he was going to be tortured, why not amp it up to the maximum levels of discomfort? Don’t just have Dean lying in the bed beside him, faintly illuminated by the ambient light in the room, making the small sounds he made while sleeping. Were those the same sounds he’d made back when he was twenty, twenty-one? He wasn’t a loud sleeper, not usually, but there had been moments when he would half wake himself up, making a little squeak, or a wheeze when the air went down his windpipe differently.

“What do you want to do for dinner?” Dean asked. “Head back out again? I saw a couple places not far away. Maybe even walking distance. Or if you want I’m sure we could find somewhere that would do delivery.”

“Whichever you would prefer.”

“Not helping, Cas.”

“I am serious. Whichever option you prefer is fine with me. I have seen more than my fill of hotel rooms, with various dining options. I am perfectly willing to have you make the selection.”

“It’s not like this is some negotiation for world peace. But yeah. Okay, whatever. I saw a diner a couple blocks back. Diner’s are usually good. You still like a good burger, Cas?”

“I do.” He met Dean’s gaze, and knew they were both thinking of the rare occasions when Dean would splurge on some higher quality ground beef and dig out the ancient grill buried in a corner of the garage, firing it up with charcoal briquettes and hickory chips, then cooking the burgers to perfection. Cas’ mouth watered just thinking of them. It wasn’t just the burgers. It was the whole experience — sharing a meal that Dean had made for them, cooking the meat to the exact doneness Cas preferred. One time Cas had brought the cheese, thick slices of cheddar that melted like heaven on the burgers, finished off with strips of bacon and a beautiful brioche bun. “Do you still grill them?”

“Sometimes, at Sammy’s place. Can’t have a grill right at my apartment. I have to use the one in the common area, and while I’ll do that if I’m desperate, it’s a lot of work to clean it up first, and it annoys the hell out of me to have to do that when it seems like no one else does their share.”

Typical Dean. Cas wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors did in fact clean the grill, just not to Dean’s personal standards. He had an eclectic mix of what he cared deeply about and what didn’t matter to him in the least. 

“What did you do with the old grill?” He realized that he didn’t know what had become of the house in Kansas. The topic hadn’t come up during their dinner conversation.

“Ended up giving it to Frank. You remember Frank? Three houses down?”

“Hm… oh, yes. Older gentleman with silver hair, liked wearing cardigans?”

“That’s him.”

They talked a while longer, then headed out for a quick dinner at a chain restaurant, where Cas thankfully avoided being recognized. After dinner, they picked up a six pack of beer and headed back to the hotel room.

Dean took one of the beers, handed one across to Cas. “Look, I’m sorry about the room.”

Cas sighed. “It’s not your fault,” he had to allow. “And I apologize for being bad-tempered about it. It’s just…”

“Yeah.” Dean took a sip of his beer, looking out the window. Anywhere but at Cas.

“I’ll take the bathroom first, unless you need it?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Cas nodded, picked up his bag, and headed into the bathroom.

He closed the door behind himself, placed his hands to either side of the basin, and dropped his head to the cool marble.

How was he supposed to get through this? Dean, in the same room?

So close, and yet completely unavailable.

How many times had he secretly dreamed about this very scenario, or at least close enough? A surprise reunion, finding out that it had all been a huge mistake, that Dean was secretly in love with him and had been forever? Cas groaned to himself. You’d think that now he was in his thirties, he’d be past such romantic fantasies. He’d thought he was, but this? This was too much. Perhaps it would be easier if he’d never had a taste of what he was missing, but he had. He knew exactly what Dean’s mouth tasted like, what his arms felt like wrapped around him at night. He knew that when Dean was deeply asleep he liked to bury his face against the hollow of Cas’ shoulder, that he snuggled. They’d only slept in the same bed once, but it had spoiled Cas for anyone else.

He’d been so happy. Blissfully, sublimely happy.

And, as it turned out, utterly foolish.

He turned the water on more forcefully than required, leaving it cold, icy cold, hoping the shock of water to his face would help him get his act together again.

After changing into a soft, well-worn tee and a pair of loose sleep pants, he returned to the main part of the room. “Your turn.”

Dean looked up, nodded, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Cas settled cross-legged on his bed, resolutely not looking at the mussed-up pillow on Dean’s. Would the pillow already smell like Dean?

Why was he going down into this hole? Did he like torturing himself?

Dean returned from the bathroom shirtless. The light from the lamp highlighted his form, light and shadow forming patterns as beautiful as any sculpture Cas had ever studied. His mouth went dry and his blood pooled south. Cas shifted, changing his angle to make any… evidence… disguised. That would just be embarrassing.

“Forgot my sleep shirt,” Dean said sheepishly as he reached into his duffel to pull one out.

“Okay.” Stifling a groan of frustration, Cas flipped onto his side, facing away from Dean, so at least he wouldn’t be able to see him staring into the darkness.

The signings the next day went more smoothly than the first, Cas thought. The store staff were more organized, and Dean was much more comfortable in his role the second time around.

A more comfortable Dean was a Dean who chatted and joked with the people waiting in line, talking to the kids, squatting down to the level of the smallest ones, spotting people who were getting impatient before they could make a scene and chatting with them enough to distract them.

It was a side of Dean that was ridiculously attractive.

There was a moment that Dean was talking to a child that couldn’t be more than six years old, and the way he was squatting just  _ did _ things to the fit of his jeans, emphasizing his thighs and the shape of his ass. Castiel felt a flush of heat wash from the base of his neck up to his cheeks, and hoped no one noticed.

That wasn’t the only moment, either. One thing after another; a flash of a smile, the sound of his laughter, a light touch on the shoulder as he replaced an empty bottle of water with a full one.

It was just so… so easy. It shouldn’t be this easy, not after so many years. They shouldn’t fall into an effortless rhythm, especially not with something they’d actually never done before. And yet, there it was. Easy.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean felt the pressure of rapidly dwindling time as a physical thing. Cas’ flight home was tonight. Two days was no time at all. No time at all, especially when most of that time Cas was interacting with his adoring public. 

Then when it was just the two of them, they were so carefully neutral, avoiding any topics of substance. Hell, Dean hadn’t even asked if Cas was in a relationship, or if he had been. Cas hadn’t asked him, either, and wasn’t that something you did when catching up with someone you hadn’t seen in forever? Especially when that person was once (was still?) the light of your life?

Cas’ bio on the internet didn’t say anything about a spouse, but those things weren’t always accurate. Cas had always been able to disguise what he was actually thinking behind an imperturbable expression, difficult to read unless you knew him really well and knew how to interpret a particular head tilt or eye squint or the specific tightness of his mouth. 

They were treating each other as though all they’d ever been was friends, or even less than that. Friendly acquaintances. Roomies who had grown apart.

It was driving him crazy, but he didn’t know how to change it. He didn’t know if Cas wanted anything else. What if he took a risk, asked, but Cas shut him down? 

What if he didn’t take that risk, and Cas would have forgiven him?

After the last event Dean tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “What time is your flight, again? Midnight?”

“Twelve thirty, so thereabouts, yes. I should be at the airport by eleven or so.”

“So you have a few hours to kill. Dinner? There’s this bar and grill I know that isn’t too far from the airport.”

“That will do.”

After two bottles of liquid courage in the form of a strong beer — not that much, really, barely enough to loosen him a little — he looked at Cas across the booth. Damn, the guy was hotter than he’d been when they were young, and how was that even fair? 

They were running out of time. If he was going to ask anything, it had to be now. 

He was running out of time.

But before he could phrase a careful question, any of the six hundred questions he wanted to know the answers to, Cas asked one of his own, an unmistakable vulnerability in his eyes that made Dean catch his breath.

“Dean. I have been refraining from asking. But… it’s weighing heavily on my mind. I need to know. Back in Kansas. The graduation party. The girl.”

There it was. The elephant in the room, the huge Thing between them.

Dean took another long pull of his beer. “Cassie Robinson. Yeah.” So long ago. “Well. That… didn’t work out.”

“I don’t… why?”

“Why didn’t it work out?”

“Yes.”

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know. It didn’t even last that long, just a few months. We just were at different places in our lives, I guess. She was starting her career, becoming a journalist. And me, I was marking time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself. She got a job offer in New Orleans, and that was it.” Yet another person leaving him behind. The story of his life.

He was well aware he was leaving out a lot of important information. Most of the important information. But hell, how could he possibly say the rest of it? 

Cas rubbed at a spot on his glass. “And afterwards? I… thought you might be married by now. Maybe some children.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, not exactly. Well, unless you count the kids I teach. I haven’t had a real relationship since Cassie, and I’m not sure that even counts. Hook-ups. I’m not a saint, and I’m not celibate. But it’s all been casual, a week or two at the most, then so long, it’s been nice, take care. I don’t know, nothing ever felt… right.” Damn, but this was an uncomfortable conversation to have. He couldn’t exactly say ‘none of them were you’, even if that’s how he felt, now more than ever.

That wasn’t who they were any more.

“What about you?” Might as well swallow the poison pill. 

“I was in a relationship for just over two years. But in the end we realized we were better as friends. He didn’t really want to settle down, and I didn’t want to settle down with him. I loved him, I still do, but I wasn’t in love with him.” Cas held his gaze for a long moment, but then looked away.

The lighting in the bar was too dim to be sure, but Dean thought maybe, just maybe, that Cas was flushed. Did that mean anything? He was playing with his drink napkin, rolling up the edge and then smoothing it out again, they way he’d always had to do something with his hands when he was uncomfortable or feeling too much.

“How long ago was this? Nothing since then?” 

Cas shrugged one shoulder. “The romantic aspect of our relationship ended three years ago. We’re still friends. So in that respect at least perhaps I have grown more successful in my life. And no. Nothing since then. I am not interested in ‘hook-ups’. I never have been.”

This was where Dean should ask if that meant their one night so long ago wasn’t a hook-up to Cas, if it meant things to him. But what was the point? He knew the answer, had known the answer before it happened. If it had been casual sex for the sake of convenience and opportunity, Cas wouldn’t have run when he saw Dean with Cassie.

He should ask if there was anything still there, if the longing and attraction was one-sided and Cas was thoroughly past him.

He should ask.

But he couldn’t. Even when Cas’ eyes seemed like they might be shining with unshed tears, when his throat worked as he swallowed despite not having taken a sip of his drink. Even then. 

Dean was paralyzed with fear, because a rejection would utterly shatter him.

Cas reluctantly got out of the car at the Departures area of the airport, going around to the trunk to get his bag. Dean came around back with him.

“Well.” He cleared his throat. “So. Uh.”

“Thank you for helping out this way, Dean. It’s much appreciated.” Heartbreaking, but appreciated. It would have been so much easier if this didn’t work out, if Dean was more of an ass than Cas remembered, if he was even the least bit less attractive, rather than more.

If Cas wasn’t still every bit as hopelessly in love with him as he’d ever been.

“Yeah. Good to see you again. I, uh, I’ve missed you.”

“And I you.” Oh so much. So very much.

“Keep in touch, huh? You’ve got my number now. And if you’re ever in town…”

“Yes. Definitely.” Cas picked up his bag. “If I’m ever in town, we’ll get together for dinner or something.”

“Or something. That’d be awesome, Cas.”

They stared at each other for another long, awkward moment, until Dean broke the standoff and came forward, enfolding Cas in a warm hug. Dean’s unique scent overwhelmed him, brought the sting of tears to his eyes, but he would not, would not, let Dean see. Dean clapped his back a final time, then stepped away. “Have a good flight, Cas.” He stared at him, something undefinable in his gaze. Cas couldn’t for the life of him read it.

“Drive safely. Good-bye, Dean.” It took all of his willpower and discipline, but he turned away and headed into the airport, his heart breaking. Again.


	11. Chapter 11

Three weeks later, Dean was planted on his sofa, surrounded by empty beer cans and pizza delivery boxes, binge watching ‘Connections with Castiel’ for the third time through. His phone buzzed. He glanced at it, saw it was Sam — again — and ignored it.

Thirty seconds later it buzzed again, and then rang with an incoming call. “Dammit, Sam.” He reached for the phone and answered. “What?”

“I’m in your lobby. Let me in.”

“What the hell? You’re supposed to be at work.”

“Just let me in, Dean.”

“Fine.”

Sam looked around at the apartment. “This place is a mess.”

“So? It’s just me, and I don’t care, so what does it matter?”

“Dean. You’re better than this. Come on, man, this isn’t the way that was supposed to work out.”

“The way what was supposed to work out?”

“You and Cas, the road trip.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you expected. It was good. We were friendly. He’s a big time TV star now, and I’m an English Lit teacher. Not like we have a whole hell of a lot in common.”

“You’re moping.”

“I am not moping.”

Sam picked up three empty beer cans. Damn, that kid had big hands. “This? This is moping. And what are you watching? Cas. You’re moping. Did you ever apologize?”

“Apologize? What the hell was I supposed to apologize for?”

“Um, maybe for inviting Cassie to our graduation party, when Cas was head over heels in love with you?”

“What, hey, what now?”

“God, Dean, you’re such an idiot!”

“Cas was never in love with me.”

“Of course he was. Is. But he thinks you aren’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh yes. I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

Dean pushed his hands through his hair, looking at Sam with bleak hopelessness. “He doesn’t, Sam. How could he?”

“How could he not?” Sam replied, gently. “You were lovers, weren’t you? For a little while?”

“You… you knew about that?”

“Not at the time. I figured it out later. Too much later. But the both of you were so happy, even though you were dancing around each other for so long, and then… everything blew up, and that whole summer before I went to Stanford you were operating on autopilot. You were seeing Cassie, and you were pretending, probably even to yourself. But I could see you weren’t yourself. Dean, don’t you owe it to yourself to at least give it a chance? You’ve never connected with anyone since him.”

Dean buried his face in his hands. Sam was right. He was right about all of it.

“How am I supposed to do that, Sam? He’s not here.” He hated how broken his voice sound. He hated how close to tears he was. Dean didn’t cry. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

He felt the cushion sag beside him as Sam sat down and laid his hand in the middle of Dean’s back, lightly rubbing. “So you go to him.” Sam’s voice was surprisingly gentle. Or maybe not so surprising.

“That could be a disaster. A humiliating disaster. Anyhow, I don’t know where he is.”

“It could be a disaster, yes. I don’t think it will be. And we can find out where he is, one way or another. But for the sake of argument… let’s say it turns out as the worst case scenario. What is that worst case?”

Dean didn’t like to examine these things. “Why do you have to be so fucking analytical?”

“Just humor me.”

“Fine. Fine.” He dragged his hands through his hair. “Worst case. I get in a flying metal deathtrap, suffer through an eternity of anxiety, get off on the other end and he’s horrified. Or, or making out with his secret husband or something.”

“Okay. So then… it hurts like hell, but you know you aren’t missing out on anything, right?”

Damn it.

“Damn it. I hate you.”

“No you don’t. You just hate it when I’m right.”

“That too.”

“Got it,” Sam said. “I texted Hannah.”

“Hannah? Hannah his field producer? How did you get her number?”

“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know. They’re in Europe right now, Paris.”

“Paris?” Dean’s eyes went wide. “Sam.”

Sam reached out and squeezed Dean’s shoulder. “You can either go to Paris, or you can wait until he comes back, and honestly? I think the gesture means something.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, it would.”

“You got this. I have faith in you.”

“Sure that isn’t misplaced?” Dean chuckled wildly.

“Absolutely sure. So. Paris.” He cracked his knuckles to loosen his hands before getting to work on the laptop. “Let’s see what kind of a deal we can get.”

Dean looked over his shoulder while his long fingers danced over the small keyboard, pulling up various flights. “Holy shit. That’s a lot of money.”

“Last minute flights overseas aren’t cheap. Jess and I will pitch in, though. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sam.”

“Dean, don’t even go there. Let me have this, after everything you did for me for my whole life. Let me do this for you. Do you have a passport?”

“Yeah, needed one for that trip to Tijuana with Benny, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Sam rolled his eyes. “How could I have ever forgotten. Good thing I had a classmate who went into international law.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Uh huh. Okay, so we can get you on a flight tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. Who knows how long Cas will be in Paris? I’ll get round trip, but it’s not a bargain fare so you should be able to change your return flight without too much cost.” Sam finished booking the flight, and had the information emailed to Dean’s account. “There you go. All set.”


	12. Chapter 12

This wasn’t the first time Cas had been in Paris, but it felt curiously flat this time around. Normally he loved the city. He expressed appreciation for smaller, less well-known destinations in his show, but that didn’t mean he never spent time in the big cities. Unlike many large cities, Paris didn’t feel modern. The architecture was still stone, with any steel and glass modern towers far out of the lines of sight of the historic districts on either bank of the Seine.

Hannah and Jack, their young camera operator, were discussing lighting and where exactly Jack should set up for the next take. Theoretically Cas was reviewing his script and practicing his lines, sitting on a bench outside the entrance to a small early Medieval church. Unlike the magnificence of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, or the jewel-toned interior of the Sainte-Chapelle, this church was modest and peaceful.

His thoughts were anything but.

Those three days with Dean had been a mistake. All of that work, all of those years of carefully burying everything he’d ever felt, erased. Any hopes he’d had that a little more time with Dean would finally let him truly get over him? Gone. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

_ Put it aside, Novak. You have a job to do. _

The looks Hannah gave him didn’t help. Jack was oblivious to everything, but Hannah? She knew something was up. She didn’t call him on it. She was worse than that. She made sure he had an extra coffee in the mornings, and played his CDs in the car. He hated her for that, even while he loved her for it.

Well. He wasn’t the first person in the world to suffer unrequited feelings. He wouldn’t be the last.

He’d intended the thought to be bracing. It was really just depressing.

“Cas, we’re about ready,” Hannah called.

“Coming.” He stood up, tucked his notes into the inside pocket of his coat and headed over to her. “Figure out the lighting?”

“Yeah. There are some interesting light patterns coming from the stained glass windows. If you come into frame from over there, you’ll walk right through them. It’ll be pretty.”

He looked at her, giving her the flat look he knew she expected, even though his heart wasn’t really in it.

“I’ve always enjoyed churches of all kinds,” Cas said, looking at the camera, talking to it as though it was a friend. Long ago, when he was taping that very first demo for Balthazar, he’d figured out that if he pretended the camera was a person rather than a camera, he was able to behave more naturally in front of the camera. He was still just a little bit stiff, but apparently that was ‘part of his charm’, according to what Hannah told him. “But there’s something particularly appealing about the smaller churches. The large cathedrals are designed to be awe-inspiring, even fear-inspiring, intentionally created to make people feel small and insignificant. Smaller churches, however, have a warmth that their rich relatives can’t touch. They have a more human scale.” He touched the wall of the church, running his fingertips across the surface almost tenderly.

He looked away then, intentionally leading the viewer’s gaze outside the frame. They’d cut to the window he was looking towards in the editing. But before he could say his next lines, the door opened and someone entered. Cas sighed to himself. They’d probably have to reshoot part of this. On their budget they couldn’t pay to have a place all to themselves, and honestly most of the time it was worth it. But sometimes things happened at just the wrong moment, so they had to run the lines again.

The person came closer, emerging out of the brighter light, features resolving — Cas blinked, then blinked again. Was he imagining this?

“… Dean?”

Dean stopped some five feet away, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets and shifting from one foot to the other. “Heya, Cas. Um. Surprise?” He went for the cheesiest of grins, but his eyes? His eyes were filled with uncertainty, even outright terror.

Cas swallowed, unable to even begin to process the rush of emotions overwhelming him in a torrent of swirling point and counterpoint. His knees gave out, and thank God there was a bench behind him, or he’d have landed in an ungainly pile right on the well-worn stone floor.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean rushed forward, his immediate instinctual concern superseding anything else.

“Dean. What… what are you  _ doing _ here? You don’t fly. Ever.”

Dean’s face turned a particularly interesting shade of pink. “Yeah, well…” He shrugged. “Turns out there’s an exception. Who knew?”

An exception. The only conclusion Cas could reach was that the exception was him, was them, but that didn’t make sense. Did it? Could it?

“I don’t understand.”

“Didn’t expect to do this in a church, of all places,” Dean muttered to himself, low enough that Cas wasn’t even sure he heard him correctly. “Okay then. Let’s do this.” He straightened his posture and looked Cas straight in the eye.

“Cas. I missed you. I’ve always missed you. You being in California, us having that time together, it was crazy. I wanted to say something, but I never did. There’s so much we never said. So much I never said, dumb things I did.” He cleared his throat. “God, this is so hard.”

Cas’ skin was tingling, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

He wanted to say something, but his tongue was tied. If Dean didn’t say what he thought, hoped he would say, then the misery he’d been enduring these last couple of weeks would be as nothing compared to where he’d be.

Dean sat down on the bench beside him, far enough that they weren’t touching, near enough that they very easily could.

“Talking is never something we’ve done well,” Cas managed to get out, his voice strangled. “Not about anything important.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Okay. I’m just going to do it.” Dean shifted to face Cas, his knee touching Cas’ outer thigh. “I want you in my life. I do. You may not want that, and if so just tell me man, I’d get it. I’m an asshole and an idiot and you could do so, so much better. You deserve better. But hell, I have to know if I have a shot. If I don’t, that’s cool, I’ll go away and leave you alone and you never have to see me again. And I’ll apologize for the drama.”

Cas’ eyes widened, then crinkled at the edges. “Just to be absolutely clear, by ‘in your life’ do you mean romantically?” His voice cracked on the last word.

Dean froze, swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean, if that’s what you want. But if you want to just be friends, I can do that, that’s better than nothing. I’ve just missed you so much and I’ll take what I can get and I’ll make it not be awkward.”

Cas laughed, then, the joy swooping in his chest so intense that he couldn’t do anything else. He moved to wrap his arms around Dean, hugging him tight, so tight, tight enough to feel the rabbit-fast beat of Dean’s heart against his. He smelled as he always had, leather and old paper and a hint of spice. Dean’s stubble rasped against his cheek, his arms came around Cas in turn, just as tight.

“Is that a yes?” Dean’s voice rumbled against his ear.

Cas pulled back enough to look into his eyes. No one else had eyes as beautiful as Dean’s, that perfect shade of gold-flecked green, those long lashes, the clarity and expressiveness when he allowed himself to be open. Cas smiled. “Yes. That is an absolute, definitive yes. There has never been a day that I haven’t missed you desperately.”

Dean’s expression filled with wonder, followed quickly by happiness. He laughed and brought his hands up to cradle Cas’ face between them. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well hot damn. Sam was right.” He leaned in, then, and kissed him.

Later, after Hannah more or less shooed him out of the church with assurances that she’d make the logistics work, she would, but he had to take care of this  _ now _ , Cas and Dean walked together along the Seine, under the lights.

“Why did it happen in the first place? I thought… you and I… I thought we were good. I thought we were more than convenient sex.” Cas’ voice was the kind of flat it got only when he was deeply affected, repressing all emotion in order to get through what he was trying to say.

“Yeah, it was good. But dammit, Cas, you graduated. You were going to leave, get a job, go to grad school, whatever the hell. But there wasn’t anything for you in Kansas. You were going to leave, and Sam was going to leave, and me? What was I going to have when everything, everyone, I cared about moved on without me? The night before the party? I was so fucking scared that I went to the bar and was in the process of getting drunk when Cassie showed up. Unhealthy coping mechanisms, I know.”

“Then Cassie came over, sat down with me, and… I don’t know, man, she was warm and friendly and interested, and I knew you were on your way out the door, and…” He shrugged. “I was a kid.”

“I wasn’t.”

Dean frowned, confused. “Huh?”

“I wasn’t,” Cas repeated. “On my way out the door. I’d applied to a handful of graduate programs in history, gotten accepted by three. One of them was KU. Ordinarily it’s not recommended that you pursue your masters or doctorate at the same school where you did your undergrad, but there are exceptions. I was going to stay.”

“You…” There were no words. Dean felt like he’d been sucker punched, all of the breath knocked out of him. His head spun, and he felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh God, Cas, I… that never even occurred to me. I didn’t even conceive that there was any scenario where you would stay with me.”

Cas, linked his fingers with Dean’s and squeezed. “We were both at fault, I suppose. I should have been open with you, but it never occurred to me that you would think I would leave, when to my own mind, that wasn’t an option.”

“I — you — well, fuck.” There were no words, just a wall of confusion and a tumble of emotions.

“Dean.” Cas squeezed his hand again, stopping to turn towards him, angling his head so that Dean had no choice but to make eye contact with him. “Breathe.”

“Sorry.” He took a few deep breaths, let Cas’ presence ground him. “It’s just upsetting, to realize I fucked it up even worse than I thought I had. We could have had so much more.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth lifted in a wry smile. “We can dissect that later. For now, let’s agree to leave it in the past.”

“Yeah. Okay. The present is enough for now.”

“So long as one thing is clear. I want to make this work. I don’t want to live the rest of my life missing you.”

Dean smiled, shy but so, so happy. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Cas smiled back. “There are a lot of logistics to work out, but I don’t work from home anyhow, so it should be manageable to relocate. Perhaps not live together, not right away. We need to get to know one another again first.”

“Cas. Do we have to be smart about this? You… you’ve always been it for me. I don’t want to lose any more time playing it safe. I’m in. I’m all in.”

Cas choked on his breath, so overwhelmed he felt lightheaded. “Dean.”

“I love you.”

“Dean.” 

Cas took his face between his palms and just stared for a long moment before leaning in for a kiss that was almost reverential. 

This. 

Connecting. The best kind of connections.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Connections](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931505) by [delicirony (deliciousirony)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicirony)




End file.
